Objects in Space
by Ageless Drake
Summary: They are, both of them, thinking of another. Icheb has an experience with the human condition.


Icheb stares at the stars of Earth from a hill overlooking the city of Seoul, trying to see if he knows any of the stars from the Delta Quadrant, rotated and skewed to a new and different place. Even far from the city, he can hear the bustle of it, and blames the implants still. A part of him—the part that still remains from being a child on Brunali—wishes there were someone to watch the stars of Earth with him. He knows this is ridiculous. He forces the desires under the calm exterior.

And this is how Ensign Harry Kim finds him.

Icheb has grown to know Kim well, grown to perhaps respect him for an intelligent, artistically minded man and an excellent operator for _Voyager_. He thinks, down in the depths of his mind where he has no control of what he is thinking, that he might _like_ Kim, in the same capacity as he likes anyone else. Perhaps one day, when he is capable of processing the emotions and stimuli, he thinks he might be able to call Kim a friend; Seven has said he needs more of those, at any rate.

"Seoul, huh?" Kim says. He stands there beneath a tree a few meters away, arms crossed over his chest, looking out over the skyline of the city. "Circa the mid-twenty-second century, if I've got my history right."

"Later twenty-second, actually," Icheb says, sitting up. He stares at the city, the sparkling lights and vague blur of smoke and steam from unseen stacks and vents. He hears Kim coming, hears him settling just a small distance behind him, but he says nothing.

After a while, Kim says, "I always liked the early twenty-first century Sydney skyline, personally. I'm not sure if Tom ever finished that for me."

Icheb is quiet a moment, before noting on a theory that has been formulating in his mind for a while, "Lieutenant Paris does many things as gifts for you."

Kim laughs. "Yeah, I guess he does. Guess I'm a pretty lousy friend, aren't I, not doing much for him in return."

Icheb thinks on this a moment, straightening the seam of his slacks absently before he says, "Lieutenants Paris and Torres have been married for a while, yet she won't take his name."

"Hm," Kim hums, and Icheb wonders if he shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. I dunno, I guess it was just easier for them to keep being _Paris_ and _Torres_ until we get back to Earth and we can make sure all the records are official with Starfleet? I've never asked them about it."

Icheb lets the silence stretch between them for what feels like an appropriate amount of time, before he speculates, "I believe you and Lieutenant Paris are having an extramarital affair."

The silence is so whole and gross that Icheb turns. Kim is staring at him with a completely guileless and terrified expression. Icheb stares back at him, suddenly confused as to why his statement has garnered such non-verbal response. Seven had once assured him that humans placed in a situation with false information would do their best to correct the assumption, and that ones faced with a compromising statement would deny to their benefit. But Kim sits there, hands limp in his lap, face pale, and Icheb doesn't know what to do with his reaction.

Finally, Kim chuckles nervously, and asks with a slightly shrilled voice, "How'd you come up with that one, kid?"

"You and Lieutenant Paris spend a great deal of time together, which I have noted he does only with The Doctor and Lieutenant Torres besides, outside of official duties. He 'gifts' you things, which he does only for Lieutenant Torres as well. At times, he touches you quite often, which I have not seen him do as frequently with Lieutenant Torres." Icheb pauses then, taking in the steady transformation toward what could possibly be guilt on Kim's face. Finally, he says, "You smile a great deal around him, and laugh even when he is not particularly humorous."

"Tom and I aren't having an affair," Kim says quietly when Icheb has been quiet for a moment. Icheb lifts a brow curiously.

"My analysis of your relationship would report otherwise."

"Yeah, well," Kim begins, almost angrily. Then he deflates and grumbles, "Yeah, well, you'd be wrong." He pulls at the grass under his shoes, yanking it up by stalks and roots and tossing it back down again.

Icheb watches him and takes in everything: the dejection on Kim's face, the tense line of his shoulders, the rapid eye movement, the continual nervous habit of pulling up the grass and then throwing the debris down between his feet.

"As Lieutenant Paris would say, 'There is a "but" in there.' What is your exception?"

"No exception," Kim says. He looks up, meets Icheb's eyes earnestly, and says, "There's nothing going on between Tom and I. There never has been, and there never will be."

And then Kim leaves Icheb to the stars over Seoul.

--

The next night, it is sunset in New York City in summer, circa the late twentieth century. Icheb is dressed accordingly, and not one of the holographic characters notice the ridge over his nose. He wonders about that, but doesn't question.

Harry Kim wears a cap with a small bill and a scarf and gloves, all in a rich tan color. He sits beside Icheb on the bench overlooking the artificial river in Central Park, at a place where you can see none of the sky scrapers. He has a steaming Styrofoam mug in each hand, and hands one to Icheb.

"It's coffee," he says blandly, as if their previous night's conversation had not taken place. "I wasn't sure if you'd like it or not."

"I have not indulged in it, no," Icheb admits, then adds, "But Seven of Nine requests that I indulge in behavior at times. So I will not suffer from what I have heard called 'culture shock' when we arrive on Earth."

"Good plan." Kim sips at his coffee carefully, no doubt weary of the heat of the drink. Icheb inhales the bitter-sweet smell of it, and lets it warm his fingers slightly through the Styrofoam.

People pass on the walkways, and the sun sinks in the sky, and after a great deal of time—Icheb finds it was only one and a half minutes, but it felt like a long time—Kim asks, "Why did you bring up Tom yesterday?"

"I am curious about human interaction. Your relationship with him seems to break societal norms as I have studied them."

Kim shifts on the bench, then ponders, "How do you mean?"

"You are closer to him than I have seen most men."

"Oh."

"This is especially peculiar to me," Icheb continues, "as you do not engage in this behavior with any other men, and to a different degree with women." He looks at Kim then, out of the corner of his eye, and says, "It is like you have eyes only for him."

Kim is quiet a moment, before he snorts and says, "I gave Seven that collection of poetry and short romantic pieces. Didn't think it'd come to bite me in the ass quite like this."

"It was interesting, as an analysis of the human conditioning toward emotions over generations," Icheb complements. Kim gives him one of those _looks_ that Icheb has just begun to become used to, the looks that come whenever the crewman is surprised by Icheb's intelligence or insight on something. Kim has worn it before; it holds an edge of affection to it now, a slight curvature to Kim's mouth and lowering of his eyelids.

And that is when it strikes Icheb that Harry Kim is what some people would consider attractive.

When he says that, Kim leans away from him, expression transforming with surprise and discomfort. He laughs nervously, and stares into his cup. "Uh, yeah. Thanks, Icheb."

Icheb doesn't understand why he is being thanked for being honest.

--

The third night is some weeks later, and it is on Seven's behest that he actually join Harry Kim on the holodeck. She cannot watch him in the astrometrics lab because she has an engagement with Commander Chakotay, and Lieutenant Paris cannot be pulled away from Sickbay because he has been shirking his duties there to dote on Lieutenant Torres.

Kim does not look particularly pleased to have him. He looks up anxiously when Icheb comes onto the holodeck, stooped over the console in the middle of the room. For a moment, they stare at each other, before Kim cautiously asks, "Did you have any plans for tonight?"

"Working in the lab," Icheb says. Kim bites his lower lip, and there is that idea in Icheb's head again, that Harry Kim is attractive. He steps toward the console.

"I hadn't planned on coming out tonight," Kim admits as Icheb stops on the other side of the console, now refusing to look at Icheb. "I'm borrowing a PADD from Tom with a story I used to like when I was at the Academy. I haven't read it since I left Earth."

"You can return to your book," Icheb offers. "I am capable of handling myself on the holodeck. I do not need a keeper for a stimulus activity."

After a moment, Kim looks up. He stares at Icheb, eyes moving slowly over his face, before he looks back down at the console screen again. There is silence for a moment more, before he asks, "Have you ever walked through the known universe?"

"That is impossible, Ensign Kim."

Kim has a secretive smile. He steps back from the console, and says, "Tom and I have been working on this for a while. Seven's been helping recently. Computer, start holoprogram iota-six-eight-nine."

The star fields of a thousand worlds swept over them, dance and then coalesce into a field of bright points and planets and nebula and a hundred things Icheb doesn't even know the names for yet.

Kim takes his head, and says, "C'mon. I'll show you Aries and Capricorn from the Delta Quadrant. Those are still my favorites."

--

Now, they spend a considerable amount of time together. Icheb wonders, in that speculative way he has, if this is a courting ritual. When he asks Kim, he gives Icheb that look that he gave him the day Icheb said Kim was attractive, though more tempered now with Icheb's random misnomers.

"We're not dating, Icheb," Kim says, shaking his head a little.

"As with your affair with Lieutenant Paris—"

"We're not _having_ an affair, Icheb, we've been _over_ this."

"—my knowledge on the subject would differ from your evaluation of the situation."

Kim gives Icheb one of those hard, even looks, the kind that he has heard Lieutenant Paris say 'doesn't belong on his face.' He stares at Icheb for a few seconds, before he finally asks, "Icheb, how old are you now?"

"Nineteen years and five months old, according to Earth time."

"Do you know how old I am?"

Icheb is cautious of his answer. He knows that it is impolite to say the wrong thing to a _woman_, but has no such experience with a man. After a moment, he safely assesses, "In your late twenties to mid thirties."

"That's a pretty big range, kid," Kim chuckles, then shakes his head and says, "I'll be twenty-eight this year."

"What does this have to do with my knowledge on the subject of courting rituals, exactly?"

"It has to do with that," Kim says with a sigh as he kicks at a small pile of leaves on the grass of Central Park in early autumn, 1946, "because I'm nine years older than you, and not a Borg. I have _experience_ dating, whereas you have theory."

"Explain to me then, Ensign Kim, how this is not a date."

Kim gives him an odd, sideways look, then mutters reproachfully, "Well, for one, you keep calling me _Ensign Kim_."

"Very well," Icheb says before Kim can continue. He stops, folds his hands before himself, and asks, "Would you prefer I refer to you as Kim, or as Harry?"

"Icheb," Kim begins, partly reproachful and partly exasperated. Finally, he sighs, and says, "Fine. For the purposes of the activity, call me Harry."

"Harry," Icheb says. The name fits well in his mouth. He comes abreast of Kim again, and as they continue walking, he inquires, "What else of this stimulus activity does not qualify as being part of the courting ritual?"

"Uh, well, you keep saying things like '_stimulus activity_' and '_courting ritual_,' so that's a bit of a downer for the whole date thing."

"Very—" Icheb frowns at himself, then says, "All right. How does this _outing_ not conform to _date standards_?"

Kim shakes his head and refuses to answer any of his questions after that.

--

Seven questions his diligence on the holodeck with Ensign Kim. He simply tells her he is expanding his studies, and finds himself pleased when her eyes show her appreciation.

He is conjugating Klingon verbs when Kim tracks him down in Seattle in the rain. Icheb looks up when the rain stops pounding on him, and finds Kim standing over him with an umbrella, dressed in those same cap and scarf and gloves from their outings in New York City. They stare at each other for a moment, before Kim says, "Computer, alter weather protocol to alpha-six-five." The sun comes out then, and Kim says, "You must be soaked to the bone."

"That is impossible," Icheb says. Kim rolls his eyes as he collapses the umbrella.

"C'mon. I've got an apartment in this holoprogram. We can get you dried off and warmed up and stuff."

Icheb does not ask questions. He continues to work on the PADD, tries to ignore that he is quite cold from the rain that had been falling since he had chosen his spot on the water front some time earlier—two hours, twenty-seven minutes and thirty-five, six, seven seconds ago—and tries to ignore that Kim is humming under his breath and tapping his fingers on the grip of his umbrella.

As they get off the train outside a nondescript apartment complex, Icheb asks, "Are you feeling disconcerted over my presence, Harry?"

"No," Kim says, perhaps too quickly. He lets them into the lobby, and they take the stairs instead of the elevator. Kim's apartment is on the fourth floor, halfway down a long corridor. The inside is nearly as nondescript as the outside of the building, with little furniture but a large bay of windows, and a little holographic cat that comes and winds around Kim's feet.

As he picks the cat up and leaves his shoes at the door, Kim says, "Take off your shoes. The bathroom's down the hall." He gestures to the left vaguely as Icheb toes off the shoes he's worn in nearly every holoprogram he's used for his stimulus activities. Kim disappears into a kitchen, and there is the quiet noise of getting something ready in there.

Icheb showers under water that feels as real as the rain did, that warms his flesh and stiff muscles and steams the metallic and glass surfaces of the bathroom. When he is finished, he wraps a towel around his waist, and goes down the hall toward the kitchen.

Kim is already watching down the hall, but that does not stop him from staring slightly. After a brief moment, Kim looks away and says, "Bedroom's the other direction, kid. Go and get yourself something that might fit."

The next time he comes down the hall, he has a cotton-weave track suit that is two sizes too big on, waist of the pants curled over itself until the cuffs are just brushing the tops of his feet and sleeves of the shirt curled until they sit at his wrists; it hangs loose around his neck, slumping off his shoulders. He sits on the couch, and Kim appears seemingly out of nowhere to offer him a steaming white mug of some earthy-smelling beverage.

"Oolong," Kim says when Icheb just takes a cautious whiff of it. "It's a Chinese black tea. A bit bitter, so I sweetened it. Thought you'd like it better than coffee or hot chocolate."

"I have found I quite enjoy cocoa products," Icheb says in quiet reply, but lifts the mug a little, and says, "Thank you for the trouble."

"No trouble," Kim assures, then laughs a little and says, "Well, I had to scrounge for one I thought you'd like."

"Do you not drink Oolong tea, Harry?"

"No, I drink it," Kim says softly, staring at his mug. "But I normally have chai or chamomile or something a bit more lightly flavored." He stares and stares at the tea, and Icheb wonders over the vacant look in Kim's eyes, before Kim softly says, "Tom always makes fun of me for liking tea. He's who got me into drinking coffee."

Icheb takes a sip of the tea, and after it has settled into his stomach, he says, "I prefer the tea to the coffee."

--

_This_, Icheb decides, counts as a date. Even if it took three more outings and numerous badgering questions before Ensign Harry Kim bent and listed the requirements of a date.

The first: that there be decent, appropriate conversation throughout the outing, and, in Icheb's exclusive case, that he try, with all dedication, to speak in a less stilted manner. This, Icheb finds, is much more difficult than he anticipated.

The second: that they each refer to the other only by the given name, which Icheb pointed out they already did on their outings. Harry allows him the point.

The third: that there be a singular pair of participants on the outing, except in the case of 'double dating,' which Icheb wisely did not ask to be enlightened on. A single date is turning out complicated enough.

The fourth: that of the singular pair there be a singular participant who procured all bills and fines of the outing, except in the occasion of 'dutching,' which Icheb _did_ make Kim elaborate on. The idea of splitting all bills and fines in exact proportion seems inefficient to Icheb.

And finally: that the entire endeavor be enjoyable for both participants. Which, to Icheb, seems simple enough.

They are in London, post creation of the first Warp engine, and Icheb finds that he is not as comfortable in these clothes as he is in the 'street clothes' he darns for earlier periods. Kim is smiling and they are sitting in Hyde Park, settled into a lull between their topics of conversation. Icheb has been careful to think before he says anything, and he has seen the way Kim is smiling indulgently at him when he struggles to bring his syntax down to the more applicable level.

The sun is bright, but beginning to set, and Icheb figures this to be an appropriate opportunity to reiterate that Kim is attractive. Some of the smile disappears from Kim's face, and he stares at his knees as he says, "Thanks, Icheb."

"Do you not appreciate my pointing this out, Harry."

Kim chuckles, shakes his head, and then says, "The last person who really commented on it was my second roommate at Academy." That is all he says, and Icheb thinks it would be inappropriate to press on the matter, considering the way Kim frowns at his knees.

But suddenly, Kim looks up and says, "Do you think we're dating?"

Icheb opens his mouth immediately, and forgoes trying to alter his syntax: "I believe that I have adhered to the criterion you set forth as the necessary requirements to be _dating_ someone, in particular yourself. I have been careful of my phrasing, called you by your given name, there is only us two participants, I have paid for everything, and you are enjoying yourself. A date."

Kim stares at him for a moment, before frowning a little bit. "I'm nine years older than you."

Icheb can hear bitterness in his own voice when he says, "Commander Chakotay is nine_teen_ years older than Seven of Nine."

"_She_ isn't nineteen."

"I'm a legal adult by Brunali standards and have been since I was eleven years old. I am also a legal adult by Human standards—"

And that is when Kim says the biting thing: "You're also a _guy_, and I don't have sex with guys."

Icheb is left stunned, momentarily, in the wake of that statement. Kim also seems surprised at what came out of his mouth; he returns to staring at his knees, a look of dissatisfaction firmly placed on his face.

"Physical intimacy was never something I had taken under consideration involving you," Icheb says into the wake of Kim's statement.

Kim snorts. "That's bullshit," he says, quiet and fervent. "I remember being nineteen. Even if I wasn't thinking about it, I was thinking about it. Especially with people I thought were attractive."

Icheb doesn't know what to say to that.

--

The next time, it is Kim who requests his presence on the holodeck. They are back in Seattle, and there is a light fog everywhere but no rain this time. They do not talk much, but Kim buys them lunch at a bistro and tea at a little cafe. They wander together, and it is not so bad.

Icheb does not say anything about how he, honestly, had never thought of engaging in a physical relationship. He does attempt a quip when he says, "I thought you did not go on outings with men, Harry."

"Obviously, you and Tom are exceptions to my overarching rules," Kim grumbles. Icheb wishes Kim hadn't pulled him away from doing his work in the lab. He wishes he were back, mapping star charts and trying to find that last thing that would find the crew back in the Alpha Quadrant, back on Earth, back home—for them, but he still does not know where home is for him yet. Still, reaching Earth means Starfleet Academy for him, to be away from seeing Seven every day and from lamenting his ability to impress her heavy standards. It means getting out from under the shadow of people he is more intelligent than.

It means far fewer confusions, on his behalf, by being away from Ensign Harry Kim.

He feels, more than sees, the movement of the sun through the sky. As dusk comes over the city, Kim says, "Let's go back to my apartment. I want to stay out longer, but I think the Computer's about to throw us a storm."

"You could override the programming," Icheb points out. Kim takes his wrist gently, and then his hand. Icheb stares at the difference between his skin tone and the color of Kim's glove.

"That defeats the purpose of an independent, interactive program, Icheb."

They reach the apartment building as the rain is starting. They take the stairs. This time, while Kim goes to the kitchen and makes the noises of preparing a meal from the things the replicator has made for them and stocked his refrigerator with, Icheb wanders the apartment and looks over everything. He has never seen the inside of Kim's suite on the ship, but he thinks the apartment is something else entirely from that. The apartment is Kim's way of expanding into himself again, deflating after the rigors and formalities of pseudo-military life.

He stares at pictures on a bookshelf. One, a middle-aged Asian couple that Icheb knows, from communique mail, as being Kim's parents. Another, a group of young adults dressed in Academy jumpsuits; he picks Kim out, standing next to a taller boy who has an arm wrapped around his shoulders. A third, a brunette woman with a wide smile, cradling her chin in her hand; Icheb cannot place her face to a name, but he has seen her before. There are others, some of crew members, some of strange things that Icheb cannot divine the meaning of.

Kim appears at his shoulder, as he can only do in his own space, holding a glass of dark red liquid.

"Wine," Kim says as Icheb takes it. "The real stuff, not the replicated stuff. Tom smuggled in a crate during our last shore leave; I've been holding on to it so B'Elanna won't dump it out a vent or something."

Icheb inhales the smell of the alcohol and fruit, and takes a tentative sip. It is more pungent and bitter than he expected, but he swallows and says nothing. After a moment, Kim returns to the kitchen, and Icheb continues his tour of the apartment.

He ends up in the kitchen as well, still nursing his first glass. Kim, however, has just poured himself a second—or perhaps a third, given the way he swallows through that glass. Icheb steps across the tiled floor, touches Kim's shoulder, and says, "Perhaps you should moderate your intake of the beverage, Harry. I would not wish for you to make yourself ill."

"I'm fine, Icheb," Kim assures. He smiles a little, moving rice around in a shallow, curve-bottomed skillet with a spatula—Icheb commends himself for knowing the utensils. After a moment, Harry says, "I haven't gotten properly drunk since Tom last ran the Sandrine program."

"And when did this occur?"

"Years and _years_ ago," Kim says with a laugh. He finishes his glass, and pours himself another. "Besides, I know when I've been drinking too much, and how strong stuff is. This isn't so bad."

They eat rice and pork and vegetables shortly after that, talking quietly about mundane, nonsense things as they drink their wine as well. Icheb watches Kim for signs of intoxication but never sees any. When they are done, they leave their dishes in the sink, and retire to the sitting area. Kim sits in the corner of the couch, and motions for Icheb to sit next to him.

He chuckles when Icheb sits an appropriate distance away, then grabs his arm. As he pulls Icheb against him, he says, "I've always been a real textile person. Like when people are close. It's gotten me into trouble."

"Trouble?" Kim has the television turned on by then, seems to not be paying attention. His body is warm against Icheb's side, his hand gentle on Icheb's exterior arm, moving on a slow path between the middle of his forearm and just above his elbow.

After a moment, Kim says, "I had this roommate at the Academy for about a semester and a half, my sophomore year. I'd just gotten out of having my first roommate, who studied all the time, damn near drove me insane." He chuckles. "That was James. But George. George was different. Outgoing, a real nice guy, but respectful too. Knew when to lay off, when to just let it go.

"Well, George and I started hanging out real soon after he moved in with me. And I had my thing about touching, so I was always grabbing his hand or letting him touch the back of my neck or whatever. I didn't know we were flirting until—one night, he told me he loved me, and I flipped out."

He is silent then, then chuckles again, more ruefully than before. "I got drunk that night. He moved out within the week."

Icheb lets the information sink in, aided by the rhythm of Kim's hand against his arm and the cadence of his breathing. After a moment, he asks, "Do you believe you would have been capable of returning his emotional dependency, if not his physical desire?"

Kim is silent to that. Then, Icheb feels more than hears the chuckle against the crown of his skull, feels Kim's lips move as he says, "I think the physical desire's the easy part. Don't you?"

Kim's hand slides off Icheb's arm, landing on his chest, and is still a moment. Icheb can feel his heart beginning to speed as Kim's hand travels over the planes of his chest, then down toward his groin. "Physical desire," he says against Icheb's ear, "is just chemicals. Emotions are complex. Messy."

"Harry," Icheb says, as Kim's hand settles over his groin and begins a slow, heavy push and pull across the front of Icheb's slacks. Icheb recognizes the arousal building in his system—the heat in his cheeks and neck, the tightness of his chest and groin, the pounding of his pulse in various points over his body.

"I did love him," Kim says, a conspiratorial whisper against the back of Icheb's ear. "I loved spending time with him, loved seeing him in the morning and during classes and after school, every damn day of my life. I loved taking him home for holidays." His breath is hot and humid and loud in Icheb's ear, as loud as the sound of the zipper being lowered on his slacks, as his own gasp as Kim's hand slips inside the clothing to touch skin. "I just didn't want him to fuck me."

There are callouses on Kim's hand, rough patches on the otherwise smooth, warm expanse. Icheb shivers on each pass, shakes, shuts his eyes and breathes deeply. Q had talked to him, on numerous occasions, about intercourse and sexuality and desire, whispered and hurried conversations when he could get away from his parents and Icheb was not in the company of Seven. Behind his eyes, he sees flashes of light, and he can hear himself gasping for breath and making inarticulate noises all the better. Kim breathes on his ear, loud and heavy, and Icheb thinks that if he reached back his interior arm, he would find Kim just as aroused as he himself is.

Everything is blinding hot and white and loud, and Icheb can feel his back arching, can feel his pulse thundering in his ears and his throat. He is gasping for breath.

Kim is perfectly, painfully still.

Then, very suddenly, everything is movement. Icheb is shoved away from Kim, who scrambles and falls off the couch, babbling rapidly. Icheb can barely pick out 'sorry' and 'oh God' and '_fuck_' from the things Kim is saying, and then Kim is fleeing the apartment.

Icheb wonders what the appropriate protocol is for such a situation.

--

Seven stares at him incessantly over the next several days, and Icheb cannot bring himself to look back at her. Finally, as he hands her a PADD with his latest assignment on Romulan trade agreements completed, she says, "Something transpired between yourself and Ensign Kim."

"It is nothing," Icheb assures. "I have the situation well under control."

"Did you engage in an altercation or argument?"

"No, Seven," Icheb says, staring at his hands. "There was a misunderstanding."

"Of what?"

Icheb has no desire to tell her. He would rather tell Naomi and know it would be around the ship within an hour than tell Seven and have her struggle to assure him that there was nothing wrong or inappropriate with either his reaction to Kim's actions, to Kim's actions themselves, or to Kim's reaction and subsequent refusal to discuss what had transpired between them.

After a moment, Seven repeats, "What was there a misunderstanding of, Icheb?"

He is quiet for what he feels is an appropriate amount of time to display his discomfort over the conversation, then says, "We engaged in non-penetrative intercourse. On the holodeck. In his apartment in Seattle. While he was mildly intoxicated."

Seven is still and silent.

Icheb continues, "Once I reached orgasm, he became highly uncomfortable and left the holodeck. We have not engaged in any non-professional interactions since."

When Icheb looks up, Seven has cocked one eyebrow at him. "The last time you engaged in stimulus activities on the holodeck was over two weeks ago."

Icheb grits his teeth for a moment and then says, "I am aware of this."

--

Icheb stares at the stars of Seoul and hears Kim coming long before he says, "You really should just talk to me yourself instead of sending Seven to do it."

Icheb turns onto his stomach and stares at Kim evenly from the grass. After a moment, he says, "I did not send Seven of Nine to speak with you about our misunderstanding from that night. She took the initiative herself."

"That doesn't defeat the fact that I had a rather unhappy woman who, I'm sure, can rip my arms out of their sockets show up at my door when I had Tom over for a drink so that she could question me about having a sexual relationship with you."

Kim sits then, and after a moment lays himself out facing Icheb. The lights from Seoul give enough illumination to cast disturbing shadows over Kim's face, but Icheb cannot look away.

"Tom isn't talking to me right now," Kim says quietly between them. Icheb looks away then.

"I had no intention of disrupting your existing relationship with your companions, Ensign Kim," Icheb replies, then sits up so he doesn't have to look at the other man. He can't _do_ this, and that is terribly inefficient.

"He's just upset," Kim assures, and the location of his voice says that he is still laying there, no doubt staring at Icheb's back and trying to think of something to say. "He's upset because I never told him anything."

Icheb looks back at Kim. Kim sits up then, and Icheb stares at his profile.

"I never told him about George," Kim says softly. "I never told him about a couple of other guys I had romantic feelings for but never wanted to go further with."

"You never informed him of your affections toward him, and that is what upset him. Not hearing that you had made a sexual advance on me. He's upset because, in the scenario of yourself and Lieutenant Paris, you are your friend George."

Kim is quiet a moment, then laughs softly. He leans over his knees and turns to look at Icheb as he says, "You're a lot more perceptive about this sort of thing than we give you credit for, kid."

--

They are, both of them, thinking of another. For his part, Icheb tries to accept and get past that.

Kim's hair is disheveled, falling into his eyes, and Icheb runs his fingers through it. He knows that Kim is thinking about Lieutenant Paris, is thinking about his girlfriend Libby perhaps, or a hundred other people Icheb has never known and has no desire to know now. For his part, Icheb is thinking of Seven—and, some deep, dark part of him is thinking of Q, of secret meetings to speak of secret things and Q's voice silky soft against his ear.

This time, they are both of full mind. There is no pungent, bitter wine. There is no holoprogram. They are in Kim's suite, and the door is locked. Their com-badges are left on the table in the front room, and they are tangled together on the bed, naked skin touching and breath mingling and trying to convince themselves that they are thinking of nothing but each other when they both know: there are other people in this room. There is no inconspicuous escape from this scenario—there were witnesses to their entrance, and there will be witnesses to Icheb's inevitable exit.

Kim's hands are sure and knowing, and Icheb allows them to guide him. He has the knowledge, gleaned from research and garnered from Q, but none of the application. Kim helps him with all that.

It hurts, for a brief time, and though he cringes, he denies the pain. He shoves it down, away, holds it at arms length and then drops it into the storming abyss of his arousal. Kim, behind and above him, groans and whispers things Icheb blocks out from his memory.

Their coupling is surprisingly brief in actuality, after the lengthiness of their foreplay—fifteen minutes and twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one seconds. Kim collapses against his back for a moment, then moves away. Icheb rolls onto his back and feels too liquid to do anything but stare at the ceiling. Kim brings him to orgasm with his hand again, and kisses Icheb throughout.

Icheb contemplates leaving then. The purpose of their coupling is completed. He sees no further purpose to his presence. But his limbs still feel liquid, and Kim is helping him to his feet, pulling him into the wash room and the sonic shower. They stand there, and Kim wraps around him, close but not constricting.

They fall into bed together, and say nothing about it.

--

It is Lieutenant Torres who raises the question. Icheb and Kim have begun taking lunch in the mess together, even after Lieutenant Paris begins speaking to Kim again. The four of them are sitting together, and though Icheb is not involved in the current conversation, he feels _included_. And that, no doubt, is what Seven intended from her stimulus activities.

They are at a lull in the conversation, and Icheb is smiling slightly over the way Kim plays with his food while he eats when Lieutenant Torres asks, quite brazenly, "So, how long before we can expect for you two to tie the knot?"

Lieutenant Paris chokes on the mouthful of water he'd just taken.

Kim puts his fork down and stands, laughing, as he says, "I've _really_ got to be ... somewhere that _isn't here_."

And Icheb, proud of himself, gets the joke.


End file.
